Patrol E

Missiles spiral overhead, 

Their now dull explosions integrating 

With the patterned clicks of guns, 
And the insidious crackle of hidden land mines 
Enfolding in a column of death and smoke
Its petrified prize. 

The symphony of sounds 
Seamlessly morphing 
Into a ridiculous melody:
One of laments and agony, 
Its harsh sounds 
Imbuing the shredded landscape 
With a nightmarish quality. 

My tortured senses protest, 
Their cries of indignation lost 
Amidst the clamour of soldiers, 
Rigid in place, 
Their minds and bodies slowly succumbing
To the inevitability of death. 

All previous remnants of glory, 
Of patriotism- gone, 
Obliterated by the incessant screaming 
Of the battlefield. 

This is what war feels like but it is also what Patrol E feels like when we are forced to get up at 6 in the morning to cook breakfast. 

A better description of the patrol is to close your eyes and think of:

Unicorns leaping through the clouds and prancing through meadows of green grass